it was raining when i turned off the lights in the building, locked the doors, then set the alarm. the thin pools in the lot reflected a deepening sky. i drove to the gate, playing Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 1 in C Minor, Op. 4: I.Allegro maestoso. i found the gate uncharacteristically fastened with a chain and padlock. on the other side the electrical box with a keypad taunted me. i drove across the lot and down around the old house recommissioned to bureaucratic endeavors - to another padlocked gate. in one moment was a hopefulness in restless spring, until an unrecognizable crescendo has long passed, an the actuality of a sift-in-thought surfaced to overwhelm me in misunderstood nostalgic disbelief, like a momentary lapse of judgement left to unravel. the last turn followed the dirt way into a rail yard, tall cement silos towering beside the parallel entanglement of rail lines. tonic soothed each ache, as i could not feel the pressing of my now foreign body as its intrinsic core found brief stillness despite the haste of another rendition. still the language is unknown, charm dwindling as if from some apathetic origin. rotund freight cars were unfastened, forming a maze passage wide enough for a vehicle. i cleared the first row of tracks, speeding under the silo's outtake, the remission of freedom throbbing in my temples, realizing - or pondering - the exacting gift of tonal or dynamic change.